


family portraits

by burningallofmybridges



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Character Study, Fluff, Gen, Hopeful Dean Winchester, How Do I Tag, I Don't Even Know, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I use that tag a lot, Introspection, Lay Your Weary Head to Rest, Sad, how is that not a tag?, what is a legacy?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:29:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28001673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burningallofmybridges/pseuds/burningallofmybridges
Summary: “Poison in your heart is poison in your mind, my dear.”Fucking witches.I don't know why I wrote this, where in the timeline it belongs, or whether this ending is complete. But I wrote it, so I'm posting it. A tribute to the legacy of the Winchesters, good and bad.
Kudos: 2





	family portraits

**Author's Note:**

> This was meant to be a Marvel fic, and then, hilariously, Supernatural hijacked it. Its kinda angsty, and I don't know why I wrote it, but it was kinda therapeutic.
> 
> It's weird, Sam is my favourite character, but I find it easier to write through Dean. So here we are

“Poison in your heart is poison in your mind, my dear.”

Fucking witches.

Dean couldn’t believe he’d be poisoned - poisoned - of all things. But here he was, slowly losing colour and watching his fingers go blue.

He had to admit, the witch had style. Which they always did, nasty though it usually was. But forcing him to think - think - before he died, that was a new one. He wasn’t sure if he was a fan of it.

Of course, hed had plenty of time to think in Hell, but he didn’t want to linger on those thoughts. He wanted to resemble something close to happy when he died.

It was unfortunate he couldn’t reach his phone. He wouldn’t be able to leave a last message to Sam, and to Cas, and to everyone else that he has - no, had, because he was a dead man now - built a family from. Out of people who love him, his brother, his life. People who appreciated him for more than the speed at which he could decapitate a vampire.

And didn’t that suck, that that was a basic hope he had when making friends with someone.

A lifetime of people, monsters, angels and demons taking advantage of him had left him a cynical man. As it had most hunters. Or as much as he knew.

He didn’t really socialise with other hunters, fearful of his apparent fame within hunting circles. It was bad enough Heaven and Hell knew him and his brother as “The Winchesters”, with capital letters and everything.

No, it was better that they stayed a myth within the hunter’s community, attempts to hide from the rumours, the legends the stories.

Because of course there were stories about him and Sam. Many different kinds, too.

There were crappy paperback books written by Chuck - or God, as he’d found out, because of course, God wrote shitty books about his life and sang folk songs in the shower - were out there for anyone to read, but few would know the truth.

Then there were the tales told by the monsters: “stay away from the Winchester’s, they’re dangerous”. The remaining Pagans, murmuring to each other about two boys who started - and ended - the Judeo-Christian Apocalypse. The graffiti in Hell’s bathrooms. The scrolls in Heaven’s libraries. The stories whispered like curses in Purgatory. Even in the Cage, the Winchester’s were despised.

And od course, the legends. The tales told by hunters and case victims and girls - and guys - they’d picked up in bars and the FBI and that strange alternate universe (Misha? He still didn’t get that) and the readers and the people who’d helped, even though they didn’t know what they were helping with. These were the people that kept the Winchester tradition alive. Because each one of them was, just a little bit, Winchester.

With that comforting last thought, Dean Winchester shut his eyes, smiled, and released his tight hold on life, gazing into the eyes of Billie.

“Hello Dean. It’s been a while.”

**Author's Note:**

> As ever, please kudos and comment.
> 
> It helps my writing improve, and it makes me ridiculously happy to see even one person likes what I write.
> 
> Also, I want to know why you guys think I wrote this because I haven't got a clue.
> 
> <3 katz


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